Page 1 of Downward Dawg
Chapter One
Elodie
Elodie Forrester lay on a thin mat stretched out on the floor of her yoga studio, talking the small class through breathing and relaxing after the intermediate pose sequence they’d just finished. On her back with arms in cactus position, she angled her head to use the mirrors to check on each participant in case they needed more encouragement.
The vibration was tiny at first, nearly undetectable, but the bones of her head picked it up and Elodie closed her eyes, trying to keep hold of the relaxation she’d just been experiencing.
Within a few carefully controlled breaths, the rumble of exhaust was loud enough to be audible, and Elodie immediately decided to end the class a few minutes early. She pushed herself to an easy sitting position and talked everyone through attaining the same. After thanking them for including her in their practice, she folded her hands at heart center and tipped her head. The formal ending phrasing flowed easily from her lips, and as always, Elodie tried to infuse each word with meaning. “The light in me sees and honors the light in you. Namaste.”
Class members rose, redonned exterior clothing, and exited over the next few minutes. Various groups of friends chatted and made plans for coffee or shopping, leaving Elodie standing in the warmly lit room alone. She retrieved a couple of blocks left near the wall, sanitized them, and placed them on a rack to dry. Several similarly-sanitized yoga mats hung over the railing running the length of the mirrored wall, but they wouldn’t be completely dry for another half hour.
Elodie settled back onto her mat and folded her legs into easy pose.Criss-cross applesauce.Cupping her hands over her knees, she sought the grounding needed before she made her way next door to talk to the neighboring business owner, a man who demanded she call him Mad Dog, pronounced dawg, which in no way could be his given name. Unless his parents were even more hippy-dippy than hers.
Be hard to out-hippy the original hippies.
Since opening his shop a few months ago, Mad Dawg usually kept late hours, staying open until midnight or beyond. Thankfully however, he was closed in the mornings and on weekends, generally not unlocking his door until around two in the afternoon. This had worked well for Elodie because most of her classes were early, beginning around sunrise. Since she was the only instructor, her business was often closed before Mad Dawg’s key breached the lock. But closed didn’t mean she wasn’t still there.
That lack of obvious overlap didn’t keep her from always being on the lookout for him—after all, the man was gorgeous with a capital G. His sharp cheekbones, intelligent gaze, and an easy, self-deprecating grin were matched with a body that was broad and tall, which meant Mad Dawg was definitely a feast for the eyes. Most days found her peeking around the edge of the door to watch his well-shaped ass saunter to his door.
For the first time, bikes had come in before ten today, and Elodie wanted to know if this was the new normal, or an aberration.
I need this to be a onetime thing.
The practice of yoga required mindfulness within the poses, remembering which muscle groups to engage and which to release, and a focus on breathing ease into tension spots. If motorcycles started coming next door earlier than had been the norm, it would disrupt her entire class schedule. As it was, she worked long hours on Saturday and Sunday to provide classes for those unable to come to an early morning weekday practice.
Manifesting that this is a onetime thing. Come on, universe. Pitch me a soft one.
Elodie laughed at herself, unfolding her limbs and stretching gently as she stood. “Sure, throwing that out into the world is gonna make everything okay.”
Oh, maybe he’ll be wearing that soft-looking shirt.
She laughed again, and with a final glance at her reflection, made her way to the door and pulled it open. Sunshine and conversations streamed inside, the rays strong and warm, the voices low and gruff.
***
Mad Dawg
Dominick Roberts stared at the group of bikes gathered in the front lot of the tiny shopping center where his shop occupied one narrow space. It was his dream to expand into an empty storefront just waiting on one side, but that would only happen after he’d proved to himself that he could make a living doing what he loved.
He smiled to see familiar faces mixed with new ones. Word of mouth was the best advertising, and when satisfied customers brought friends back with them, it was a good sign. When it was someone not in his own club, it was even better. He’d been blessed that the Rogue Maniacs MC members frequented his shop, but he didn’t want to depend on his brothers for his livelihood.
One of the men rattled the doorknob, and when he found it locked, cupped his hands around his face, peering into the space.
Mad Dawg waved and made his way to the door, turning the deadbolt holding it closed.
“Hey, brother,” he greeted the man and clasped forearms with him. “Welcome back.”
“You not open yet? Shit, man, we can come back later.” The man, Mad Dawg remembered his name was Alan, shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Didn’t mean to bother you.”
“Not a bother at all. I’m here every day, soon as I roll out of bed, but I typically don’t unlock the door until I’ve had enough coffee to hold a coherent conversation.” That pulled a laugh out of the waiting men, and Mad Dawg greeted each as they came through the door. “There’s a coffee maker on the back wall, if any of you need some extra go-juice.”
General murmurs of thanks and appreciation came from the group as they migrated that direction. Conveniently placed past the racks of clothing and leather that supported the lifestyle they were all involved in, a few cups of coffee was cheap incentive to bring the customers farther into the shop. He noted four different patches on jackets and vests, all smaller support or community-style riding clubs, where every party was probably a family-friendly one.
His own vest was draped over a chair in the back room. Not out here on display, because he didn’t need to flaunt his association with one of the strongest clubs in the region. It was enough that he knew where he belonged, and who his brothers were. Club members from the surrounding area were frequent visitors of the store, and he definitely felt supported by their purchases, but that support was a thing that went both ways. Most club meetings he’d show up with a bag full of parts or other things, all passed along at cost, because he wasn’t going to turn a buck on his brothers.
The shop was a way for him to be involved in what he loved, every single day. The construction job he’d held before hadn’t allowed him that freedom, and if one of their jobs was running behind the boss could mandate overtime. Those times meant there’d been runs and meetings he couldn’t attend, and it had eaten at him until he’d come up with a way to both make a living and stay true to those who held his loyalty.
Now, he couldn’t imagine ever going back to asking an unsympathetic boss for a day off to attend an out-of-town weekend run. Instead, he simply propped a sign in the window saying he’d be back on Tuesday, always giving himself a Monday as a recovery day if it was a long ride. If it wasn’t, he’d come in and work inventory or the other tedious paperwork that came with owning the shop.
